Slytherin Green
by Ming Xiong
Summary: Harry wanted a calm moment in the cold, and gets to see a new side to the Slytherin Quidditch captain. Preslash Marcus/Harry, rated T for an eensy weensy tiny bit of swearing.


Disclaimer: Don't own.

Author's Note: Happy New Year to everyone! This one-shot can be read as simple friendship, but I quite like the unlikely couple Marcus Flint and Harry form. Please tell me what you think, as English is not my native language. And if someone suggests a better title… Hope you enjoy!

**Slytherin Green**

Great gusts of winds blew through the deserted corridor as Harry sat on the windowsill. They whipped through his clothes and his hair and chilled his body to the bone, and Harry was content to feel invisible needles prick his face and hands while he thought. It was to be his first Christmas away from the Dursleys, and while he had no great expectations of getting any more presents than in the years before, he would at least get a good meal and roam to his heart's content. And his first friend would be staying right there with him.

He smiled.

After nearly four months at school, Hogwarts continued to amaze him. Living for ten years in a cupboard had not prepared him to the immensity that was the castle; the winding corridors and tens of towers and hundreds of rooms, the moving stairs and secret passages, everything contributed to his disorientation. Of course, not everything was good and well, and the fairytale had started losing its glamour as he learnt of his parents' murder.

He was, perhaps not completely happy, but content in the school. He still had enemies, but could escape them more easily; and he could eat his fill, and he was getting used to the attention. Life was, on a whole, not so bad at the moment.

He shivered in the wind.

Shouts attracted his attention outside the window. He sat far above the ground, but the Quidditch pitch was close, and as Harry squinted he could see the Slytherin team making their way into the air, freeing the bludgers from their binds. The snitch was far too small for him to see it, yet habit made him bend over the edge to try and find it. Cold wind whipped him in the face and the hand clutching the railing was white.

The movement he made, as small as they were, did not go unnoticed. A player detached himself from the rest of his team and sped towards him. As he came closer, Harry recognized none other than Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and all-around bastard to the near-entirety of the students. Harry had played against him in one match, thankfully not on the same position, and he knew him to be brutal and unafraid of cheating.

He flinched but did not otherwise move, frozen as he was in the open window. Flint halted his broom in front of the window, scowling and silent. Harry's hand still gripped the iron railing. They just looked at each other, and then Flint opened his mouth.

"You spying?"

Harry twitched. Big bad Slytherin or not, you shouldn't insult others like that… Besides, he had some leeway to talk back, as Flint, contrary to certain _others_, hadn't ever attacked him directly.

Yet.

But still.

"I wasn't spying! And I was here before you! You can't just go around making accusations like that, and I can't even see well even with my glasses, so –"

A strong gust of wind made him shiver, and he found his teeth chattering, preventing him from finishing his sentence. Only after he managed to control his body did he look up again; Flint wore a strange expression on his face, a cross between a scowl and interest, and was that amusement? He probably wasn't used to small first years defying him, but Harry refused to let himself be intimidated – too much. In the worst case, the bars on the widow would stop him from flying into the tower, and if he reached inside, Harry could always jump back…

Well, if he managed to move. He was so cold that his feet felt like lumps of ice, and the nervous sweat on his hands was probably freezing him to the iron he was holding, like that small child he had once seen in a park whose tongue had been stuck to his ice-lolly.

And as he shivered again, he found something pushed on his head and over his eyes, Flint's hand retracting as Harry jumped in surprise; he took off whatever it was the Quidditch captain had put on his head, and was stunned to discover a green cap. Now Flint was looking even more awkward, and Harry once again forgot to be prudent.

"I can't take it! It's your cap, you'll need it for practice! …and it's a Slytherin cap!"

"… Your eyes are Slytherin. Now shut up, goddamnit."

And with these kind parting words, Flint flew back to the Quidditch pitch, leaving Harry open-mouthed – and still stuck on his windowsill.

Quite some time later, after he had watched the entire practice of little blurry dots on sticks, Harry unfolded himself from his seat and closed the window. Limping and trembling, he made his way through the empty corridors, taking the long way to the Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the common room, sitting by the fire, and they lifted their heads towards him as he passed the Fat Lady.

"Oh, the cap suits you, Harry." said Hermione.

"But it's Slytherin green!" protested Ron.

"Is it?"

Harry smiled.


End file.
